Page 19 of Taking A Chance

She answers on the second ring, her voice slightly labored. “Hello?”

“Sorry, did I wake you?” I ask, realizing it’s a little late to be calling people.

“No, not really,” she says over the line. I hear her adjusting or repositioning, possibly a ruffle of blankets. “I haven’t been sleeping much this past week. I have to pee like, every four minutes.”

Harper also happens to be pregnant with my niece or nephew. They find out the gender next week and are supposed to come for a visit after that. Before she gets too big to travel.

“I need to talk to you about something, and I need that pragmatic side of yours,” I start.

“I’m all ears,” she says.

Taking a seat at the edge of my bed, I breathe out a sigh and relay my past with Declan. I feel like she needs the whole picture for this. So, I spill everything all the way up to a few minutes ago when I stormed out.

Harper is silent on the other end for a few moments before replying. “Okay, let me see if I have this correct,” she says. “You hated him, then you shared a meal with him and chose to be painted by him half-naked, but you’re mad he painted your private emotions?”

“Well, when you put it like that, I sound like a crazy person.” I sigh.

“I’m just wondering why your emotions on canvas felt more vulnerable to you than partial nudity,” she says.

You know what, on second thought, Harper is making too much sense. I shouldn’t have called her. She has the unique ability to be completely objective and serve up a very different side of the issue at hand than the one you see.

“Harper, that’s not the point. The partial nudity was with my permission, and I wasn’ttotallynude. The important parts were covered. As for the emotions, he didn’t ask permission. He just used what I was going through for his art. It feels like a violation,” I spit out on a hurried breath.

A few more quiet moments of contemplation go by and I hear her shift again. “Something inside you allowed you to trust him in your moment of need. Something also had you accept a dinner date. And something definitely made you feel like it was okay or safe to be undressed in front of him. So do you really think it was a violation or do you hate that you hate him less?”

An unidentified noise escapes my throat. A scoff? Another snort? Some combination of both? I’m not sure, but whatever it is causes Harper to sigh in response—loudly.

“Look, that’s definitely not it,” I say, unsure if I’m lying or not.Am I?

Let’s examine the facts. Do I hate him less? It’s probable. And by that, I mean yes. Do I hate that? Also probable. What else is probable? That I’m lying to Harper. But can I hate that yet also feel violated? This is a lot of questions. I feel my brain compressing against the walls of my skull.

“Okay, then I guess continue to be mad at him and hate him like you did before,” she says.

I can practicallyfeelher shrug through the phone line. “I should go. You get some sleep. I’ll see you guys next week, right?” I say, changing the subject before she reaches through the phone and chokes me.

“That’s the plan,” she says.

We say goodbye and I end the call, not really feeling much better than before. Shrugging out of Declan’s suit jacket, I set it down next to my bed and crawl beneath my blankets, making a mental note to have it dry cleaned for him while I’m at work tomorrow.

Maybe I’m mad at him, and maybe I never want to speak to him again, but that doesn’t mean I shouldn’t have the decency to wash his jacket after wearing it most of the night.

As I doze off, my emotions are all jumbled. It’s unsettling and annoying, which is sure to make for a night of tossing and turning.Perfect.

13

Cora

After leaving work,picking up Declan’s jacket, and then stopping to get my favorite Japanese takeout, I arrive at home, ready to tackle laundry night. Despite having a great day at work, it was still clouded by last night’s events. It took me forever to fall asleep last night and as a result, I woke up groggy as hell this morning. Only after two cups of coffee was I able to start functioning like an actual human being.

The day turned around during lunch and ended on a good note in terms of progress on our current catalog of projects. But picking up Declan’s suit jacket—which I paid the cleaners to expedite—served as a stark reminder of the cloud overhead. That was when I decided to pick up Japanese. Because nothing does a better job at improving my mood than a big Styrofoam container of shrimp hibachi.

I unpack everything onto my kitchen counter, then separate my takeout containers and pour myself a glass of wine. I don’t even bother going to sit down. I crouch over the sink, alternating between sipping from my glass and shoveling rice in my mouth. It’s not until about halfway through that I realize how pathetic this seems.

I’m ashamed to admit the number of meals I eat this way. Unless it’s a date night or I’m out with friends, this is usually where I am. There’s a certain kind of sadness associated with eating so many meals alone in this manner. Is it so much to want someone to sit down with? To light a candle, talk about our respective days, and laugh? Do dishes together or fight over whose turn it is?

For a long time, my brother Jensen and I shared these same goals for our lives. Before he met Harper, he’d been single a long time. Now that he’s found his happiness, it casts a harsher spotlight on my own life. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for my little brother. It’s awesome for him. But I can’t help but feel pangs of jealousy.

I shovel the last bite of rice and teriyaki shrimp into my mouth as I turn to toss the container into the garbage, which is full. Not surprisingly, having someone to take out the trash is closer to the top of my list of desires than I care to admit.

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